Empty, with something;
...
Empty, that lives
...
My material core predominated in pitch-black, rough micro-cracks of my possession's index finger tingling in funeral atoms that froze at the touch of the nothing-moving. Even if it touched, it did not touch; it touched in a way that was not sensorially felt, yet I felt it, it slid, I heard, truly, with my eyes. From the spectrum of materialized imagination. The nothing was a whole that could only be possible when touched by the optical dimension. The timid pupils shrank in eyes devoid of the retreat of attention, which opened unlocked. The sight of the exclusive could never be replicated by any existence, therefore the optical refuses to lose. The eyelids open forcefully as if the action wished to come closer. It implodes and explodes the very opening struck by the inevitable. The transcendent illumination to the eyes of something beyond, a particle of mine and anatomical, wandering in the sea of the vastness, harmonically chaotic. Living smallness entangled à trois. The whole. The total unreal of the infinite groping coldly and superficially the dermis. The legitimate form displaced from duration in its sum and the escape from all that is customary that lies established. There is nothing equal; nothing similar. Unnameable? The emergence of ignorance surpassing the barrier of knowing.
Vastness filled-detailed, clarity from beyond, the darkness from beyond, I say. Nothing, speck, everything—simultaneously. Not even this, aside from nothing, beyond existence. Nor touched. Only seen. Struck to the concrete. An echoing touch sparkled eardrums, individual to me, like a flame of indecipherable color. The angelic noise that in murmur spoke nothing but vibrated in harmonic and growing timbre. It overwhelms and drowns me. Universal pulse of something greater, but not alive, even in your axis; it fused existence and beyond it. The rhythm of subsistence opposed a possible rhythm to the absence of time. A literal swing of my matter, which in domino moved, vibrato beyond a body out of the currents of the true. The overwhelming abstract of the colossal and gigantic and unexplorable vastness.
Falling in a raging and stormy fall to something greater than mere descending or ascending. The locomotion from the smallest, micro, to the greatest, macro, of everything. The true odyssey devoid of the fall of existence; the entangled auras of everything or more than everything.
The exotic rhythm of the weaponry and more of it. I am only an occlusion of the immense that shelters me. If man is incapable of transcending, it is up to him to be content with the contemplation of the transcendence of something apotheotic that makes him tiny; consequently transcending him.
Beyond everything; after; then; later. The other side.